


When Winter Comes

by salman_s



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salman_s/pseuds/salman_s
Summary: Fire cannot burn a dragon, but that matters not in the North.Ned is forced to fulfill his promise in a different way, and the world shifts at the sight of Fire and Blood molded in Winter.





	1. Chapter 1

**The Beginning  
**

**  
** _The night that changed it all_

 

The night was still when the door creaked open, a maester's chain clinking. He moved into the Solar of his Lord, his face resigned and his voice foreboding.

"The realm will know of this sooner or later, My Lord." The Maester then turns his gaze toward his lord, seated by the desk. His arms are cradling a tiny body, that of a toddler.

"I see that now." Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, replies. "There is no way to keep the secret buried forever now." He admits, his eyes closing in resignation.

The fire in the room seems to burn brighter then, as if in response to the admission, illumating the room. The singed clothes on the boy's body are even more visible now, which only further emphasizes the unburnt, smooth skin that should not be so.

"Fire cannot burn a Dragon." Maester Luwin murmers, "But this is the North, my Lord. That may not be enough to protect him." He states, the Maester's mind going through the various knives that would be sharpened in response to this discovery, no doubt.

'You have to protect him, Ned' Her voice whispers to Ned.

"Aye." Ned responds, his eyes growing resolute as he leans down to place a soft kiss on the clid's forehead.

"Send a raven to the Citadell, requesting for a new Maester." Ned commands, his steely grey eyes moving to the recipient of the order.

Immediately, the Maester pales, the consquences of that order dawning on him. He moves forward then, closer to the desk. "Please, my Lord. I would never betray you, or the boy." He pleads, "I have never harbored any ill towards him, nor will that change. Winterfell is my home, and the Starks are of Winterfell." He says, his voice trembling at facing the grey-like steel-, resolute eyes of his Lord.

Ned smiles in response then, his eyes shining with quiet amusement. "The new Maester will be for Castle Black, relieving Maester Aemon of his duties and ensuring the Night's Watch is served by someone strong and able bodied to deal with the rising demands that come with the Wildings' increasing activities." He says.

Maester Luwin breathes a sigh of relief at that, "Yes, of course, My Lord. It will be done." His body then turns to move to leave the room, but his Lord's voice stops him.

"In the second raven you'll be sending to Castle Black, make sure you mention that I'm requesting Maester Aemon to come reside here in Winterfell, in gratitude for his continued, loyal service to the Seven Kingdoms by serving the Night's Watch for the better part of a century." Ned mentions, his eyes moving to the boy on his lap again.

Confused, the Maester stares at his Lord. "Maester Aemon, my Lord?" He asks, unsure as to the purpose of this command.

"Aye." Ned responds, his eyes looking down at the boys face, a hand caressing his hair tenderly. "Let him know that I have a very precious gift for him." He finishes, his eyes moving from the sleeping boy to the Maester's once again. "You may leave now."

The Maester bows, before leaving the Solar.

His mind wanders to the first protector of this child, then.

'Now, it begins.' Ser Arthur Dayne had told him, his sword shining like the star it was once a part of.

"You were right, Ser." He admits, his fingers running through his Nephews hair.

'Promise me, Ned.' Her voice whispers again, her words immortalizing her in a way no tomb or crypt ever could.

"I promise." He replies to the ghostly whisper, once again. The pain now being replaced with resolutedness that comes from walking into a battle.

"Now, it begins." He says, looking down onto the child sleeping in his arms.

'You have to protect him, Ned' Her ghost whispers again. 

He then thinks of his enemies, his grey eyes glinting like steel. 

"And Winter comes with it."

In the distance, a Quiet Wolf howls into the night, for the first time in a long while.


	2. Family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lady of the Winterfell gets a reminder.

There was change in the air. Catelyn Stark could feel it.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever grow used to the North, despite having lived here for more than four years now.

Their Gods, their behaviour and mannerisms were all different than what she was ever taught. Because of that, she could never blame the distrustful eyes of her husband’s bannerman towards her- the _southern_ wife of the Lord Paramount of the _North._

Yet that never stopped her husband from treating her with the dignity and respect she was owed.

It was only very recently that she truly understood how lucky she was.

 _‘The King spends more time with his whores than his own wife. He’s so lucky to have Petyr here, helping with the running of the kingdom. I hope your husband treats you well. We all know the savages the Northmen can be!’_ Her sister had wrote on their last correspondence. Her eyes wince at the memory, immensely glad that her husband was who he was. Which naturally caused her blood to boil at the last comment in the letter.

“Robb!” A childish squeal let out, “No, don’t!” It continued, horrified. Cat’s eyes then turned to _him_ , the only blight on her marriage. It figures he would show up right when she was feeling glad about her husband.

The _bastard_ let out a whine before being pushed into a snow bank by her firstborn, her pride and joy. She let out a childish smirk at that, glad that her son would do that to him. There was a darkness on her gaze as she looked upon the two children playing, her mind going through how she could just get her boy to _see_ the true danger that bastards were to any trueborn heir.

“And here I thought you were the Dragon knight.” Robb said, his Tully eyes narrowing in a childish frown as he watches his half-brother get up from his place on the ground. “It’s just like Mother said, you will never be lord of Winterfell, you’re just a bastard!”

The Bastard in question just looked up then, his eyes tearing up. He was always a quiet, solemn boy. But the pain on his face shone with more emotion than she ever saw on his face. And right then, she saw a glimmer of her own Husband’s face in his.

Her heart clenched then, because she knew that the words were _her own_ , coming out of her boy’s mouth. Her dear Robb, who loved his half-brother with a love that rarely existed between even trueborn siblings.

Robb seemed to have noticed his half brother’s pain then, his mouth opening quickly “Jon, I didn’t mean th-“ He got cut off when he was pushed into the ground then, grey eyes shining furiously with unshed tears as little legs carried him away to the other side of the keep.

It was silent in the courtyard as Robb, in an astounding level of maturity for his age, understood the pain he had caused when uttering that word. He looked up at her, then, finally noticing her on the balcony.

His youthful eyes, a reflection of her own, looked up at her. Those eyes narrowed then. He understood it as well. Those words were hers, and it was she who caused the pain in his half brother.

His eyes gazed at her unnervingly for a few moments. “That will never happen again.” Those strong, resilient words being spoken by someone so small shocked her. Because she knew, deep within her heart, that on that day she was the one who caused him to go against her own house’s words, now shared by her son.

His eyes looked onto hers challengingly for a few more moments, before running towards the direction of his half brother, no doubt asking for his forgiveness she knew her son would get. 

“He is my blood, too.” A voice cuts in from behind her. Her eyes flinch toward her husband standing beside her, his eyes stony as they bear down upon her. She shrinks in shame, her mind too settled in the guilt she was feeling to even try to defend herself, as she normally would have.

His words were a reminder that her son wasn’t the only one who considered the _bastard_ his family.

“I’m sorry, My Lord.” She replies, knowing calling him by his nickname would only make things worse. But then she remembered her own misgivings about the boy. And the one who caused them. “But you know why I have such… misgivings about him.” She said, her heart hardening. He was, afterall, his _bastard_.

His eyes held her there for a few more moments, before letting out a deep sigh. “Don’t prove my bannermen right in regards to my choice for a wife, My Lady.” He tells her, a knife twisting in her gut with a pain that she wished that was physical instead.

Her Lord Husband starts walking away from her then, before he stops short of the door to the keep.

“Stark blood runs through his veins just as much as the children I have with you.” He begins, “That makes him _Family._ The death of his mother makes my protection of him my _Duty._ And as a Stark, there is no greater _Honor_ than fulfilling one’s _Duty_ to _Family.”_ He tells her, his voice grave.

“Family. Duty. Honor.” He continues, his eyes moving towards the blowing winds. “There is nothing else that matters when Winter Comes.”

“I- I understand.” She replies then, because she truly did. “I’ve learnt those words in deeds and character when I came here.” She tells him, honestly, her sister’s letter running through her head, along with the fate of many of the _southern_ husbands had brought upon their wives. She realized then, that if she really continued to believe in all her teachings, then her husband would be nothing more than a _savage_ as well.

Yet, her fear for her children took hold of her once again then.

“Does he need to be treated the same as the Heir of Winterfell as well, then?” She asks, her mind forcing her to at least get something out of this conversation that could couple the guilty relief she got from the knowledge that no _living_ woman shares in her husband’s love. “Their places in this world are going to be different, after all. It is only suitable that their education reflects that.” She tells him, referring to the fact that the boys were being tutored by the same Maester of Winterfell, in the same room at the same time.

Her husband frowns in thought at that, before his face relaxes and the corner of his lips tug something close to a smile. That pleases her greatly, sensing her Husband’s agreement. “Consider my proposition Lord Stark. I may not promise to ever be a mother to him, but I will not do anything to keep his half-siblings away from him.” She says, her mind assured that it was a good trade.

“Aye. I will end Jon's classes with Maester Luwin soon.” He agrees after several moments of deliberation, before taking his leave.

She breathes a sigh of relief at his words. “Thank you, Ned.” She tells him genuinely as he leaves her sight.

The change that she knew was coming didn’t frighten her so anymore. She was a Stark too now, after all. If she was to embrace the winter that came with living in the North, she would need to embrace the _snow_ that came with it too.

 

 


	3. The First Lesson

Ch 3

 

Compared to Castle Black, most would definitely consider Winterfell to be a castle of luxury. It has been a long time since Master Aemon has lived in any kind of luxury since leaving King’s landing, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating the comforts of the seat of the North.

He was only curious as to why he was given this blessing.

There was knock on his door then, prompting a reply from the old Maester expressing his permission to enter.

His vision is fading fast as he approaches his last days, and that only adds to the confusion as to what a Lord Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms would want from an old, defeated Maester sworn to serve at the ends of the world.

Nonetheless, a raven-haired young boy with exceptional curls walks in, his walk slow and respectful as he greets the old Maester.

“I am sorry my father was not here to welcome you, Maester Aemon.” The young boy says, his tone even yet warm, “As you may already know, he was called to partake in the war against the Ironborn.” He finishes.

Maester Aemon smiles then, “There’s no need to apologize on his behalf, boy. I took no offense.” prompting a smile from the boy. “Although, not introducing yourself first may be something you might want to work on.” He teases, causing the boy to come closer. His weak eyes catch a better hold of the sight of the boy, as well as the smile that adorns his face.

His heart freezes at that, his memory conjuring up old ghosts that are long dead.

The boy doesn’t notice, his eyes sheepish.

“I am named Jon Snow, Maester.” He says, wincing as if there was some kind of pain felt every time that word was uttered. “I’m the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark.” He finished, his face too young to hide the resignation the boy felt.

The sight of the boy subdues any old ghosts the Maester was seeing, his mind being forced to stay in the present. “Ah, Jon Snow.” Aemon says with a smile, “Maester Luwin informs me that we will be spending some time together.”

The now named Jon nods his head in response, “Aye.” He says, his voice guilty. “I’m sorry you’re being put up to this.” He almost blurts out, his face showing his sadness. “I used to study under Maester Luwin with Robb myself, but…” He carried off, seemingly not wanting those words again.

“I see.” The Maester replied, smiling still. “Worry not, young snow.” He began, taking extra care to make it a term of endearment than anything else, “I look forward in the lessons we’ll be having together.” He finishes sincerely.

The young boys eyes widen in response, his lips moving to reply “I-I Thank you, Maester Aemon. I promise I’ll do my best.” He promises, his tone as serious as a boy who’s not even ten summers could be.

“Your lessons will begin now, however.” The Maester decides, “A short lesson, but perhaps one of the most important of all.” His words cause a sense of urgency in the young boy, his eyes darting around the room seeking something. The old Maester chuckles as he realizes why, “You will need no quill and paper for this. We only require your attention so that you may remember my words.”

Jon takes a seat right on the floor then, his eyes eager. “Aye. You have it, Maester.”

“The best of men aren’t remembered for their names, but for their deeds.” He begins, his voice steady and strong as he looks down at the young boys eyes, on a face that reminds him of old ghosts that surely have no reason to accompany them this far North.

“I say this because the worst of the men have also had the best of names.” He continues, his mind thinking of those Unworthy and those Mad. “Their names didn’t shield them from their evil, and the evil that they did didn’t cease to be evil because of their great names.”

“The same is true in reverse as well, young _snow_. “ He says with a smile that stretched across his old, wizened face. “Your name is not a finality as far as your greatness goes, it gives you no limit.” A smirk graces his face then, “No limits, but it may give you many obstacles.” He continues, choosing his words carefully, “Whether you’re a Snow, or a Stark, or whatever it is you assign good to, you must be better.” His eyes trail into memories again, wishing he could say this to a young, silver haired prince that he could only speak through ink and paper on the other side of the realm.

“There will come a time when every boy has a choice. Whether to remain confined to his title or name, or to free himself from them to do the right thing. Every trueborn, and every baseborn, must make this choice.” He looks down then, caressing the hair of the young boy looking at the Old Maester rapt with attention.

“Snow, Stark, Baratheon, Tully…” His voice stills here then, _‘Targaryen’,_ the ghosts accompanying the young face whisper. “…These names can be just as honorable as they can be gilded cages for a mind stuck in the past. You must soar past these cages to find yourself. That is when you will have become like the _Ice_ that shields the realms of Men, little _snow_.” He finished with a smile.

His young charge continued looking up at him, his eyes focused and thoughtful as he sat there, taking it all in.

A smile blossomed on his face then, awaking the ghosts of his family long gone once again. “Thank you, Maester.” He says, his voiced laced in sincerity even though he has not completely understood it yet, surely.

It is a good thing he has time. He will make sure he does his best with this responsibility. A responsibility that comes with a privilege of living in a place he knows he doesn’t deserve. “That is all for today.” He announces with a smile.

“I understand Maester. Let me know if there is anything else you may need from me.” He says, rising to leave.

A voice stops Jon as he rreaches the door, though.

“Your father mentioned that he had a… precious gift for me in the letter he sent me. I would like to be acquainted with it, if possible. Forgive an old man’s impatience.” The Maester says with a chuckle.

The young boy then frowns in response, “I’m sorry Maester, I wasn’t told of anything of the sort.” He says, before moving to leave.

The boy stops then, turning towards him with a cheeky grin. “All you have is me, for now.” He says, delighted.

He leaves then, unaware of the weak, but bright ember of hope he left in an old, bitter heart.


End file.
